


You're a Hot Mess, Baby (But So Am I)

by oceanbluecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff, M/M, homeless!Cas, mechanic!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-10 10:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10435290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanbluecas/pseuds/oceanbluecas
Summary: Dean’s life - and house - is a mess. The same can be said for the blue eyed thief who just tried to rob him.Maybe they can help each other out.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to a fantastic team of betas for putting up with me on a regular basis. [yugokitari](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yugokitari), [GeekPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeekPrincess), and [Areiton](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton) \- you guys rock.
> 
> Written for the [Dean/Cas Tropefest Mid-Winter 5k](http://deancastropefest.tumblr.com/) and based off of [this](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/post/112392287541/list-of-aus-to-consider-where-one-or-both-of-u) prompt. The banner was made by the awesome [museaway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway).

Dean unlocked the door and slipped into his apartment, exhausted from an overly long day at the auto shop. It was past midnight, and the work, despite its rushed deadline, had proved itself with a high pay rate from a harried car owner. He and Bobby had both gone home tonight with full wallets, which in all honesty, Dean had sorely needed.  
   
He sidestepped the overflowing pile of recycling in his foyer and made his way into the living room, not bothering with the lights. He dropped his bag of dirty coveralls in the recliner, in plain sight, so he wouldn’t forget to make the trip to the laundromat in the morning. There were times when he wished he had a roommate, but now wasn’t one of them—Sammy had bitched about Dean’s mess near daily before he’d gone off to college, and these days, Dean didn’t have the patience or energy, or even the time, to put up with _anyone_ complaining about his mess. He worked long hours, usually six days a week, and rarely had time for cleaning.  
   
Hell, one look at his apartment and that much was obvious.  
   
Everywhere he looked, there was mess. It was never ending. It wouldn’t be far-fetched to compare his home to a landfill. Beer bottles and take out containers covered the coffee table. Filthy dishes wafted a putrid stench into the air from the kitchen counter. Dirty laundry was strewn everywhere, and trash littered nearly every available surface, including the floor. There was a small path along the mess that ensured he could make it from one spot to the other, like a deer trodden trail in a forest, but it was the only thing that made sense in the entire space.  
   
There had once been a time when Dean had put effort into keeping a tidy home. Sam had lived with him back then, and although they lived in a dumpy apartment complex on the gritty side of town, they got by okay. Sam would come and go—to school, to his part-time job, to study groups, and back. Dean kept sensible hours that ensured him the time he needed to properly care for the teenager he’d been legally entrusted with, and the social service lady always finished her visits with a smile.  
   
Things had turned south when Sam got the acceptance letter from Stanford. During the celebratory dinner, the excited calls to their friends and family with the good news, and the bragging to everyone he met about how _smart_ and how _amazing_ his little brother was, Dean panicked internally. He’d set aside money for Sam’s college education, of course, but he’d been praying for a full ride scholarship. While Sam had gotten _some_ financial aid, it wasn’t enough.  
   
So Dean took out loans, Sam took out loans, and Dean picked up as many hours as he could. He worked himself to the bone to manage it all, but he was convinced Sam deserved it. Someday, it’d all be paid off, and Sam would be a fancy lawyer living a cushy life, happy as you please. That would be the day Dean could go back to his nine to five, Monday through Friday job, and just breathe. He could spend time with his friends again. He could go on dates again, and he wouldn’t have to stare longingly at the empty side of his bed at night, lonely and full of heartache. Sam would be happy and taken care of, and all the time, effort, loneliness, and squalor Dean dealt with would be worth the cost.  
   
Dean was in the process of toeing off his boots—and cursing the fact that one had fallen into an open trash bag—when his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, attention focused on scraping the fuzzy, moldy gunk he’d managed to step in off the bottom of his shoe with an old empty cereal box. “Yeah?”  
   
“Dude, your Thursday call didn’t happen. It’s Friday now.”  
   
Dean smiled at the sound of his brother’s voice, safe where no one could see him, and answered gruffly, “It’s still Thursday in California, bitch.”  
   
“Just barely, jerk,” Sam answered automatically, voice muffled for a moment before ringing through clearly again. “It’s okay, though. I don’t really have the time to talk. Midterms are next week, and I’m up to my ears in study material. Can’t really afford to screw this up, y’know?”  
   
“Make good grades, and I’ll get you a subscription to _Busty Asian Beauties_ ,” Dean bribed halfheartedly.  
   
“Yeah, thanks but no thanks, Dean,” Sam said, meeting Dean’s amused expectations. “I really just called to remind you that this weekend is the Sheriff’s Retreat, and that the girls are gonna be in town tomorrow.”  
   
Dean’s mouth fell open soundlessly, dread filling him from head to toe. That was _this_ weekend?  
   
Sam went on casually, like Dean wasn’t having a minor breakdown on the other end of the line. “You made them stay in a hotel room last year, and that’s not gonna fly this time around. Make sure the guest bedroom is ready, okay?”  
   
Dean shuffled through the mess and over to the calendar hanging from a nail in his small kitchen. He tore it off the wall and flipped to the correct month, and sure enough, it was _this_ weekend.  
   
“Dean? You still there?”  
   
“Yeah. I, uh, I gotta go, Sammy. Got shit to do. Don’t fuck up on your midterms, okay? Call me when you’re done with ‘em all and tell me how you did, alright?”  
   
After Sam’s confirmation, Dean hung up. He turned to survey his home with renewed disgust, regret, and sheer exhaustion. It was gonna be a long night. He was just reaching for the nearest half-full trash bag when he heard a sudden and loud rustling coming from his bedroom.  
   
What the fuck?  
   
He padded as quietly as he could across the small space and entered the dark bedroom. Flipping on the lights, he let out a relieved breath. The window was open, curtains billowing in the breeze. The wind had probably tossed around some potato chip bags or something. It wasn’t like his sleeping quarters were any better than the rest of the apartment. The guest bedroom was the least of his problems, actually, as he rarely used it, but even it was buried in layers of dust.  
   
Dean _had_ to get to work. He only had until noon before Jody and Donna arrived to drop off their luggage before heading off to the first day of their retreat. He’d have to stay up all night to clean, but he could squeeze in a small nap while they were gone, then be up and raring to go as soon as they returned. He had a tradition of taking them out for the first evening they spent with him, and he would uphold it, even if it meant downing absurd amounts of coffee. He would manage. Maybe.  
   
_Thump_.  
   
Dean turned to face his window again, baffled. Did a bird fly into the building?  
   
_Thump, thump_.  
   
Three birds? He couldn’t imagine what else it could be. He took a couple of steps closer and gasped. “The fuck?”  
   
“Help, please,” a voice answered back, presumably belonging to whoever had their fingers curled over the windowsill.  
   
“Holy shit!” Dean exclaimed, rushing over and sticking his head out to look over the ledge. Hanging from his window, three stories and fifty-two feet from the ground, was a man in all black, with a pale face and a suspicious duffel thrown over his shoulder. Wide blue eyes looked up at him imploringly.   
   
Dean couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Dude, were you trying to rob me?!”  
   
“No!” came the immediate reply. The man’s feet dangled helplessly, and his knuckles were white. “Yes!”  
   
Dean raised an eyebrow.  
   
“Maybe!”  
   
Dean raised his _other_ eyebrow.  
   
“Okay, yes! I’ll give it back! Just, please help! I can’t hold on much longer!”  
   
Fuck.  
   
Dean leaned out the window, grasped the man as best he could, and _heaved_. It took a lot of effort on his part, and in the end, they succeeded, collapsing onto the filthy floor together, the thief landing atop him and knocking the air right out of Dean’s chest. Dean coughed, lungs burning, and the man lurched off, disappearing through the bedroom door.  
   
Wheezing, Dean internally cursed himself. He’d just let his damn robber escape.  
   
Or so he thought.  
   
The thief came barreling into the room again, dropped to his knees at Dean’s side regardless of the trash, and thrust a bottle of cool water into Dean’s hands.  
   
“Take deep breaths and then drink. It’ll soothe your throat,” the man said.  
   
Dean just blinked at the stranger, absolutely stunned.  
   
The thief sighed, looked guiltily at the floor, and then snapped his eyes up, meeting Dean’s. “My name is Castiel, and I’m sorry I tried to rob you. Thank you for saving me.” He pushed the duffel bag onto Dean’s lap. “Please don’t call the police.”  
   
“I, uh… What were you doing hanging out the window?”  
   
In Dean’s clouded, confused mind, it was the only thing he could think to ask.  
   
Castiel’s shoulders slumped. “I’m admittedly inexperienced in the art of theft. I entered by picking the lock on your front door, but when I heard you come in, I panicked and tried to escape through the window…”  
   
“Whoa,” Dean started, holding his hands up, “You’re telling me I just happened to be the unlucky bastard you chose for your first robbery? God, _why?_ ”  
   
“You’re, uh, the only person in this complex not living off a fixed income,” Castiel answered, sounding unsure. “It helped that you weren’t home.”  
   
“How did you—”  
   
“Oh, wait, no! Please don’t get the wrong impression,” Castiel hastened to add, “I wasn’t stalking you or the building. I just happen to live close by. I can easily see everyone from where I am, and, well, you seemed to be the only working resident, never home, and yet your appearance and choice of home don’t reflect the income you must be making. I…guess I imagined you had money stashed away in here, because you don’t seem to be spending it.”  
   
Dean snorted and took a huge gulp of water. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m broke. Putting a kid through college is expensive.”  
   
“I apologize doubly, then,” Castiel said, and from anyone else, Dean would’ve read it as sarcastic, but this man was being entirely earnest. “It must be very hard doing that. You certainly don’t deserve to be robbed.”  
   
Dean frowned. This guy was weird. “Why were you trying to rob me, anyway? You don’t seem like the type of dude for it.”  
   
Castiel looked away, shame clear in his tone when he spoke. “My living situation is less than ideal, is all.”  
   
Something clicked in Dean’s mind. The man’s dirty, worn appearance, his desperation, and his broken voice suddenly made sense. “You said you can see this complex from your home, but there’s jack shit around but condemned buildings and second hand stores. Means you live in the tent city across the street, huh?”  
   
Face red, Castiel nodded.  
   
Dean looked down at the bag in his lap, biting his lip. “You’re homeless.”  
   
Again, Castiel nodded.  
   
An uncomfortable silence fell over them, and Dean picked absently through the duffel. Cas hadn’t stolen anything worthwhile—not that Dean had many valuable things anyway—but Dean felt a little guilty. His meager belongings weren’t even worth the risk Castiel had taken.  
   
Decision made, Dean stood, shoved the mess off his bed, and upended the bag’s contents there. Castiel stayed where he was, eyes on Dean as he pulled things out of his closet to pile on the mattress.  
   
“What are you doing?”  
   
“Look,” Dean said, ignoring the question, “You can’t have my dad’s leather jacket, Sammy’s beanie, or my _Dr. Sexy, M.D._ boxed set, but I do have shit you can take.”  
   
“What?” Castiel climbed to his feet. “No, I couldn’t possibly—”  
   
Dean began stuffing the bag. In went a couple long sleeved thermals, a red hoodie, some flannel pajama pants, t-shirts he’d never wore or had worn too much, jeans he’d outgrown, and the ugliest sweater known to man. He shoved in as much as could, filling it to the brim. He even included Benny’s old coat, because fuck if the man had come around to collect it in the past few years, anyway.  
   
“Sir, stop, please, I can’t—”  
   
“Dean.”  
   
“What?”  
   
“My name is Dean, and I’m gonna offer you a deal.” Dean zipped the duffel and pushed it into the other man’s arms. “I’m willing to bet you need what’s in this bag, and food, and clean clothes, and,” Dean scrunched up his nose as he sniffed the air, “a shower.”  
   
Castiel surprised Dean by shoving the bag back at him. “Don’t judge me. I’m not judging you. When was the last time you _cleaned_?”  
   
“2015,” Dean rebuked, “You?”  
   
“Likewise.”  
   
They glared at each other, in a momentary standoff during which Dean’s frustration faded, and he found himself drowning in those baby blues.  
   
He snapped out of it. “Look, I’m willing to make a deal. You need help, so I’ll give it, if you help me out, too.”  
   
Castiel narrowed his eyes in clear suspicion. “And what would this deal entail?”  
   
“I have guests coming over in the morning,” Dean said, motioning broadly to the perpetual dumpster he lived in. “Take a guess.”  
   
“I see how that may be a problem.”  
   
“Help me clean. If you do, I’ll feed you, give you a place to sleep, let you use the shower, give you this bag of stuff, and promise not to call the cops. Seem fair?”  
   
Castiel glanced around the room, at the bag, and at Dean. “Seems more than fair, to be honest…”  
   
“Good! Then you’ll do it?” Dean asked hopefully.  
   
The man eyed Dean up and down, took one last look at the disastrous space surrounding them, and _finally_ , he nodded. “I will.”  
   
Dean grinned. “Great! They’ll be here around noon, so we have until then. Let’s get you some food—”  
   
His cell chose that exact moment to ring shrilly, buzzing excitedly on the kitchen counter where he’d left it. Dean held up a finger as a silent _hold on a sec_ and rushed to pick it up.  
   
“Hey, Jody! I was just—”  
   
Castiel followed him into the adjacent living room at a more leisurely pace. He picked up the trash bag Dean had abandoned earlier and starting throwing trash in it, quiet as he worked. As he bent over to pick something up, Dean was blessed with a great view of his ass, and truth be told, Dean enjoyed it. It looked firm, rounded just so, but it didn’t stick out prominently. There was just enough for a handful, and Dean’s palms twitched at the thought.  
   
“…so we got the night off,” Jody was saying, “We’ll be able to leave earlier. Should be there around nine. That okay?”  
   
Oh, _no_. No, no, no, no, no.  
   
“Sure!” Dean chirped, perspiration beading at his forehead, “No problem! See you then!”  
   
He hung up. “Cas, we’ve got a problem.”  
   
They got straight to work after that. Dean hauled out all his cleaning supplies and left Cas to the living room while he tackled the kitchen. It was tough going. Mold, mildew, unidentifiable substances—it all had to be scrubbed and scraped and soaked, and it was just pure chaos. Sweat trickled down his back, sticking his shirt to his flesh and probably adding to the ripe scent of B.O. in the air. They both gagged more than once at things they’d unearthed, though when Dean called for a break a few hours later and served them both some microwaveable oatmeal, Cas seemed entirely unaffected by his surroundings as he scarfed down two servings.  
   
After that, they got right back to it. Cas was a trooper, bravely facing the job head on. He showed no disgust or hesitance as he sorted Dean’s crusty laundry into reasonable piles, and dove right into the cleaning the toilet. The man was a godsend.  
   
Over the long night, they managed to get nearly everything done with a few hours to spare. They themselves were filthy, smelly, and stained, but the apartment was sparkling. The only thing they _hadn’t_ gotten to was all the laundry, but that was only because no laundromat nearby was open yet.  
   
Dean tossed Cas the duffel bag and a clean towel. “Your prize, good sir.” He pointed to the bathroom door. “Now go take a shower. You smell like ass.”  
   
“As do you,” Castiel intoned, but he obeyed easily enough.  
   
Dean ate some more oatmeal while he waited for his turn, and then heated up a couple more servings for Cas. When Castiel came out of the bathroom with a cloud of steam, Dean sent him a tired, friendly smile. “Lookin’ much better, buddy.”  
   
Castiel looked down at the too-big jeans slung low on his hips and the pastel pink _Cinnamoroll_ t-shirt he wore—a gag gift from Charlie a few years ago, but Cas didn’t need to know that. His feet were bare, and though it was adorable, Dean internally cursed himself for forgetting to include socks.  
   
Cas smiled tentatively back. “Thanks.”  
   
Dean directed Cas to the bowl on the counter. “There’s some more food for you. I gotta shower, too, and then the ladies should be here, but I promised you a place to sleep, so my bed’s all yours for the rest of the day.”  
   
“Are you sure? You haven’t slept since yesterday…”  
   
“I won’t have time for it today,” Dean replied honestly, “Look, man, if you can forgive the floral design on the spare bedding, it’s all yours. Its clean, at least.”  
   
Cas sent a longing look toward the bedroom, and with minimal hesitation, gave Dean a confirmation. Dean then took his leave to hop in the shower. He bathed quickly, thoughts full of hard working thieves in his clothes, in _his_ bed, who also happened to be hot as fuck, cute as hell, bullheaded in the best of ways, and surprisingly pleasant company. Dean didn’t miss the way Cas’s eyes had roved over Dean’s own body, the appreciative glances, or the way Cas had licked his lips when Dean purposely raised the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his brow, revealing his toned midsection.  
   
Yeah, Dean was flirting, but so was Cas. Dean was _sure_ of it by the third time Cas had bumped into his personal space and lingered there a little too long.  
   
Shower finished, Dean dressed for the day in his usual denim and flannel, and then set about cleaning the small mess he’d made while cooking. He hummed tiredly while he worked, trying to stave off exhaustion. The clock told him he had a couple hours until the sheriffs arrived, and he yearned to use the short time for a nap.  
   
Glass shattered, and Dean found himself staring blankly at pieces of the bowl he’d been towel drying. “Oh,” he muttered, unable to even muster up enough energy to be annoyed with himself. He turned to fetch the broom, but Cas was there with it already, hair sleep mussed and clothing wrinkled. He handed over the dustpan, and together they silently made short work of the mess.  
   
Job finished, Cas grabbed Dean by the sleeve. “C’mon. You have time for a small nap.”  
   
Dean allowed Cas to lead him to his bedroom before his lethargic mind fully comprehended what was happening. Cas nudged him into the bed and literally tucked him in. As he turned to leave the room, Dean’s hand shot out and caught his wrist.  
   
“Dean?” Cas questioned.  
   
“Come sleep with me,” Dean muttered, trying for an inviting tone. He just came across as tired.  
   
Cas smiled. “Buy me dinner first, and we’ll see.”  
   
“Later,” Dean promised, tugging on the other man. “That’s not what I meant, though. No hanky-panky. Just sleep. You need it, too.”  
   
“I don’t know…” Cas cast a glance at the other side of the mattress. “I mean, it _has_ been a long night…”  
   
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “And you don’t stink anymore.”  
   
Cas rolled his eyes. “Neither does your apartment.”  
   
Dean laughed. “Only ‘cause you kicked ass last night.”  
   
A cool breeze and the sound of birdsong filtered in through the still open window, the early dawn sunlight casting a warm glow on Cas’s skin, and Dean wondered hazily if he were dreaming this moment.  
   
“We make a good team,” Castiel said, still smiling, “I’m glad to have met you, Dean.”  
   
Dean scooted over on the bed, pulling Cas onto the mattress with him. Cas chuckled, a blush rising on his cheeks, but stayed where Dean maneuvered him. When Dean pressed against his side and wrapped an arm around his waist, Castiel’s eyes slipped shut, his entire being radiating contentment.  
   
It didn’t last long, unfortunately.  
   
“Dean,” Castiel muttered after a moment of silence, “I would love to explore what you’re offering here, but I don’t think it would be fair to you.”  
   
“How so?” Dean asked, yawning and nuzzling into Cas’s chest.  
   
“I have baggage,” Cas said, quietly enough that Dean nearly missed it.  
   
Dean shrugged it off. “So do I.”  
   
Cas tried again. “I have a whole slew of current problems.”  
   
“Got a membership to that club, too,” Dean assured him.  
   
Cas sighed. “I’m _homeless_ , Dean.”  
   
“It’s okay,” Dean promised, “We can work on it.”  
   
Cas rolled to the side, dislodging Dean in an effort to face him. “I _like_ you. You’re the first person in a long time to offer me kindness, and you’ve shown _so much_ of it in such a short period of time, all of it entirely unprompted. I couldn’t possibly bring you down by burdening you with my issues.”  
   
Dean reached forward, once again awed by the earnestness of the man before him. He cupped Castiel’s jaw and ran his thumb gently down his cheek, enjoying the rough brush of stubble he found there. “Cas, sweetheart,” Dean said, “I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking for a couple of dates, for you to be my boyfriend, maybe. If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”  
   
Castiel sighed, shoulders relaxing.  
   
“But,” Dean continued, “I would _really_ like you to be my boyfriend. I don’t care about people’s pasts or their problems. People matter as they are, not in how they can benefit me. My friends—like Jody and Donna—know I’m a clusterfuck of baggage and have issues out the wazoo, but they’re still my friends. They see the good in me and that’s all that matters to them. I’m the same way. I see good in you, Cas, and that’s all I give a shit about it.”  
   
Castiel visibly thawed, relaxing into the bedding and Dean’s palm on his face.  
   
“Oh,” Dean added, attempting to sound casual, “I also see that you’re a pretty hot guy, so there’s that, too.”  
   
Dean grinned from ear to ear, delighting in Cas’s cheeks turning pink again. He leaned in and pecked Cas once, swiftly and chastely, on the lips. Pulling back, he said, “So what d’ya say, Cas?”  
   
Blue eyes rose to meet Dean’s. “Well, if you’ll have me as I am…”  
   
Nodding, Dean said, “We can deal with the rest as it comes.”  
   
Cas’s hand found Dean’s under the blanket, and their fingers entwined together. Cas said, “Then I’d love to.”  
   
Dean couldn’t stop smiling, allowing Cas to pull him back to his chest. Cas smelled like Dean’s shampoo, and his arms felt just right as they encircled Dean, holding him close. Dean reveled in it, amazed in the simplicity of the moment, of just being held by Cas, who was so much more than a body taking up space on the empty side of his bed. He may not know Cas very well, but he could envision a future with him, and that meant something.  
   
Later, when Jody and Donna arrived, Dean was still grinning as he held Cas’s hand and proudly introduced him.  
   
“This is Castiel, and he’s my boyfriend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed. Thank you for reading! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆


End file.
